


FMA Week 2015

by wordslinger



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Gen, Havocai, Royai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are my offerings to the FMA Week 2015 prompts on tumblr. Some chapters are related, some aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trust

            Roy crossed his arms over his chest, and glared up at her.”Absolutely not.”

            “Why? It’s perfectly safe.” Riza leaned down, and patted the shoulder of the horse affectionately.

            “I don’t want to ride an animal that could suddenly decide _not_ to have me on it’s back at any given moment.” He wouldn’t tell her that horses terrified him. It was bad enough having to endure her calling him a _city boy_ every time he couldn’t perform whatever backwoods function she threw at him. _Why_ had he ever thought befriending this girl would be a good idea?

            “Cherry would never throw you. Not with me in the saddle, too.”

            “Well, you’ll have to forgive me for not just hopping up there.”

            Riza frowned, and slid out of the saddle. Despite her shorter stature, she still managed to intimidate him sometimes. From day one she’d been all scowls, skinned knees, and ill-fitting pinafores. In the presence of her father, Riza was mild-mannered, and quiet; she served his meals, ran his errands in town, handled the homestead, and made sure the eccentric man rarely had to leave their property. Roy doubted Master Hawkeye saw the inappropriateness, and cruelty of foisting such responsibility on a thirteen year old girl. When freed from the yoke of her father’s demands, however, Riza had shown herself to have a mischievous streak. She often dragged him along with her into the woods or around their farm, and Roy wondered if she actually enjoyed his company or just the resulting hilarity of his failed attempts at country life.

            “You don’t trust me.” She mimicked his stance, and crossed her arms.

            “I do.” He shrugged, and lowered his arms to stuff his hands in his pockets. “Just not the horse.”

            Riza shook her head. “But your last name is Mustang. How can you be afraid of horses?”

            “It’s a perplexing coincidence, I’m sure.”

            “Just give her a chance! I promise it’s not dangerous.”

            “No.”

            Her face fell. “But we can’t go on foot. It’s too far, and we’ll never make it back by dark.”

            “You haven’t even told me where we’re going! How do I know I even _want_ to go?”

            “Fine,” She bit out. Riza grabbed Cherry’s reins, and started to lead her away into the barn. “You can just go back inside, and bury your face in a book where it’s safe, and far away from everything that’s real. I’ll find something else to do today.” Riza turned her back, and started to march off.

            She was trying for angry, but Roy could tell he’d hurt her feelings. He reached out, and grasped her arm. “No, wait. It’s…” He took a deep breath. “It’s fine. I- I trust you, okay?”

            “Really?” Her smile blinded him in his intensity.

            “Yeah, I mean, you’ll go slow, right? No tearing across the landscape or anything?” He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

            Riza said nothing as she effortlessly slung herself into the mare’s saddle. She held a hand out for him, and with a pounding heart, Roy did his best to mount the horse with as little awkwardness as possible. He didn’t know where to put his hands, and Riza huffed as she grabbed his wrists, and secured them around her middle. “Hold on, okay?”

            Cherry trotted out of the pasture at Riza’s command, and just when Roy was feeling less like his life was at risk, she sped up into a canter. He clutched at Riza's body, and hid his face in her neck. Just before the seemingly docile horse opened up into a full gallop he felt Riza chuckle dangerously. Roy tried to focus on keeping his hold tight, and not the betrayal of his supposed friend. He didn’t know how long they rode, but when Cherry slowed to a trot again he opened his eyes.

            “You said slow!”

            “No, _you_ said slow.”

            Riza brought her horse to a stop, and glanced back at him. “You can let go of me now, we’re here.” She expertly hopped down, and Roy slunk from the saddle like a boneless glob.

            “That was the most terrifying experience of my life! You didn’t even warn me!”

            “Oh, did I not mention? Cherry used to race. It’s in her blood.” Riza grinned at him, as she pointed the traitorous animal to the pool of water, and tied her to a branch that looked well used for the purpose. “Must have slipped my mind.”

            “You-”

            “Oh, get over it, Roy. We’re here now, and you’re alive.” She pointed to the cluster of shrubbery at the far edge of the pond. “That’s where we’re going.”

            “If you think I’m following you _anywhere_ -”

            Riza rolled her eyes, and grabbed his hand. “Just come _on_.”

            Roy pursed his lips, but allowed himself to be dragged. When they cleared the line of bushes, his mouth fell open. The pond had expanded into a deep blue lake.

            “Now take your clothes off.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “We’re going swimming, dummy. You can’t do it in your clothes.”

            “But-”

            “Listen to me, city boy, if you get your clothes wet you’ll have a hard lesson in chafing on the ride back. _Trust me_.”

            “The last time I trusted you, I ended up on the back of a horse, and my entire life flashed before my eyes.”

            “Wow, that must have been really taxing for a sixteen year old.” Riza turned her back to him, and pulled her dress over her head. He averted his eyes, but she’d been prepared for the day. Underneath she wore cotton shorts, and a tank top. “You can stay ashore if you want, but you’ll be missing out.” She paused, and regarded him. “You _do_ know how to swim, right?”

            Roy bristled. “Of course, I can swim. Probably better than you.”

            “Is that so?” Riza smirked, and climbed up the curved trunk of a tree that longingly reached over the water. “Prove it, city boy.” She dove gracefully into the water, and made good time across the width of the lake.

            With a frustrated breath, Roy pried his shoes off, and left his clothes in a pile next to hers. He would _not_ be beaten by a smartass girl.


	2. Fear

            Jean Havoc groaned, and rolled over only to find the sunlight cruelly assaulting him from the open curtains. He sat up, and for a confused moment wondered about his location until a tandem of giggles reminded him. _Why_ couldn’t Mustang install a locking doorknob on the guest bedroom door? Especially with his terrifyingly identical little girls lurking around the house. Havoc never could tell them apart, and they seemed to sense his fear; like animals they smelled it on him, and never hesitated to pounce.

            He fell back into the safety of the pillows, and exhaled in defeat. “I can hear you two laughing, you know.” A matching set of amber eyes, and dark haired heads peered at him from over the edge of the footboard.

            “Good morning, Uncle Jean,” One of them said. Christine or Elizabeth… he wasn’t sure which.

            Havoc smiled as best he could given his hungover state. “How are my best girls on this bright Sunday morning?”

            Another round of giggles, and they ascended upon him. One clad in pink flannel pajamas, and the other in yellow, the two Mustang girls clambered onto the bed making him feel not a little bit seasick at the motion. The Pink One curled against his shoulder while The Yellow One shoved a strand of hair from her face, and bounced on the mattress next to him.

            “Did you know Hayate can’t have puppies, Uncle Jean? My daddy says he’s snippy.” The Yellow One declared.

            Before he could choke out a reply, The Pink One giggled quietly next to him. “ _Snipped_ , Lizzy. Daddy said _snipped_.” Chrissy turned her eyes on him. “What’s snipped mean?”

            He should’ve guessed Lizzy would be the one to blurt out poor Hayate’s fate. “Eh, well…” Jean felt like his lungs were full of cotton. “It just means he doesn’t have the right boy-dog parts to make babies.”

            Lizzy stared at him in the calculating way that always set him on edge. Chrissy was much quieter and contemplative in personality. “Is that why _you_ don’t have any babies, Uncle Jean? Have you been snipped like Hayate?”

            Havoc bristled at the thought, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. “ _No!_ I have all my parts, thank you! Snipping is just for pets like dogs, and cats that live in the city.”

            “Why?” Lizzy crossed her arms over her chest, and continued to eye him. Chrissy ran her small fingers over the ink of the tattoo on his forearm.

            “Well, because… I mean-”

            Riza appeared in the doorway, and saved him from the inquisition. “Alright, girls, I think you’ve tortured him enough for one morning.” Her twitching mouth told him she’d heard quite a bit of the conversation, and had chosen to let him suffer. “Why don’t you head downstairs for some breakfast, okay? I’m sure _Uncle Jean_ would like to have a shower in privacy.”

            Lizzy glanced at him skeptically one last time, and hopped off the bed. He was grateful for the stoppage of bouncing. Chrissy climbed out more carefully, and then disappeared after her sister. “Thanks for rescuing me, Hawkeye. Maybe you guys could get a better door knob?”

            “Consider them your free wakeup call, Havoc. It’s all part of your stay at Hotel Mustang. Chrissy _might_ save you some pancakes, but Lizzy is ruthless.” She winked at him before leaving him alone in the guest room.

            _Right._ Maybe he should just drink less on poker night.


	3. War

            Jean Havoc reached into his desk drawer, and fumbled around. His muscle memory was usually perfect, but today something was off. He glanced away from his stack of paperwork, and into the frustratingly empty drawer. _Where was it?_ The square glass ashtray always sat in the same spot, and he knew this because he never trusted anyone else to handle his personal effects in the office. Havoc plucked the cigarette from between his lips before grinding his teeth together. It was bad enough his ashtray had gone missing, no need to ruin a perfectly good filter, as well. He closed his eyes, and tried not to slam the drawer shut, but it took some effort. After a deep breath, his eyelids slid open to assess his teammates.

            Furey was discounted right away; impossible to imagine the timid young man, whose face was currently hidden by the innards of some electronic device, getting the idea in his head to try and curb Havoc’s smoking. The master sergeant broke out into a cold sweat if asked too pointed a question. No, the culprit had to be more bold than that. Bold, and probably _nosey._

            Havoc peered at the man next to him through narrowed eyes. Lieutenant Breda’s right hand absentmindedly traveled between the bag of pretzels on his desk, and his mouth. The left never moved from his work. Early in their friendship, Jean had questioned Heymans endlessly on what it was like to be a lefty in a right handed world. Eventually he’d been shut down by a scathing retort on Havoc’s experience being single in an office with a womanizer like Mustang. Despite their beginnings, he didn’t think Breda would take his ashtray. If he had a problem with the smoke, he’d simply snatch the cigarette right out of Jean’s mouth. He didn’t play the subtle games that earned him a place on the Mustang Unit with friends.

            Warrant Officer Falman was another dead end. The man had a photographic memory, and when Havoc previously smoked in close quarters with him, Falman had only bored him to tears with statistics and medical jargon regarding the chemical dangers of commercially produced tobacco. He wasn’t the sneaky, thieving type. Most often he ignored Jean’s nasty habit entirely.

            Colonel Mustang leaned his chin on his hand, and stared at the clock. Havoc frowned. The colonel was exactly the type of person who’d take another man’s ashtray. He was clever, and had chastised him on more than one occasion about smoking. Though, if memory served, in those situations Mustang had been under duress. He typically didn’t poke at Jean unless already irritated about something unrelated. Like a dangerous homunculus or a new stack of paperwork delivered to his desk by… _of course_.

            Lieutenant Hawkeye sat directly across the room from him, and chewed on her pen cap as she flipped through a packet of forms. Her eyes were trained on the work in front of her, and Havoc slid the metal drawer open again, and slammed it shut. Hard. Riza didn’t even flinch, but he did notice the corner of her mouth twitch. Her poker face wasn’t as good as she liked to think.

            “Well, that’s weird,” Havoc said loudly. Every eye, including the lazy colonel’s for a brief second, turned to him. Except for Hawkeye’s. She continued to sift through papers, and Jean scowled.

            "What’s weird?” Furey adjusted the glasses on his face, and peered at him over the top of the dismantled radio.

            “My ashtray is missing. It’s always right here in my top drawer.”

            “What a _shame_ ,” Breda mumbled before going back to his work. The storm cloud gathering over Havoc’s head darkened. She wouldn’t even look at him. He tapped his pen on the desktop, and glared at her to no avail.

            When Hawkeye finally looked up, her face was blank, but he could just _hear_ the smirk in her voice. “Why don’t you stop banging things around and either get a new one or, I don’t know, stop smoking?”

            “I don’t _want_ a new one.” His lips curled up into a wicked grin as an idea crept into his head. “How would you feel if someone took your favorite tea cup?” Riza’s eyes narrowed, and he could’ve laughed victoriously.

            “I don’t have a favorite tea cup.” Her voice held a warning he had no intention of heeding. Even Mustang was watching the back and forth with an interest that won out over the clock hands that were lurching closer, and closer toward the end of the work day.

            “Sure you do. It’s the blue one with yellow trim. I’ve never seen you with a different cup. It would be a real tragedy if it went missing.”

            Riza opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted. As the grandfather clock chimed six times, her eyes never left his. The silence in the office was stifling, and everyone’s attention focused on the war waging between Lieutenants Havoc, and Hawkeye.

            “When tea starts causing cancer, you can have my cup.” She said nothing else as she gathered her bag, and left the rest of her teammates behind.

            “Wow, Havoc, that was pretty brave of you.” Mustang drawled as he stood, and stretched. On his way out the door the colonel clapped his hand on Jean’s shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing picking a fight with the lieutenant.” He laughed as he vacated the office. Despite there being more than one lieutenant in the Mustang Unit, there was never any question as to whom the colonel meant when he used the title on it’s own.

            “She started it,” He mumbled.

            Breda chuckled at him, and Furey simply shook his head in terrified disapproval. Falman didn’t say a word, but spared him a raised eyebrow as he left. Havoc found himself alone in the office, and contemplating the teacup. Could he really do it, and incite Hawkeye’s wrath? When he’d been in the moment, her glare hadn’t been too scary, but in retrospect he couldn’t believe he’d called her out so brazenly. He’d honestly felt violated, though. _His ashtray!_ That was _personal!_

            On his way through the suite of offices Mustang’s staff occupied, he stopped in the kitchen. Hawkeye’s teacup sat on the drying rack. He stared at it for a long moment before opening a cabinet and stashing it on the very top shelf. One he knew she’d never be able to reach without assistance. He swallowed back his fear, and stalked from the building. If Riza wanted war, it was a war she’d get. He just hoped he wouldn’t be her casualty.

            The next morning a pair of hands slapped down on the surface of his desk. Though, he’d expected her rage, she’d taken him by surprise. Good grief, the woman was stealthy. Hawkeye didn’t say anything for several excruciating moments, but her eyes burned through him painfully.

            “Did you know,” She began in a casual voice that belied the frightening expression on her face “that the third floor balcony is perfectly visible from the bell tower across the street?”

            Havoc blinked. “Uh, what?”

            Her grin made him want to sink into the floor. “You generally take your breaks at eleven, and three.” She squared her shoulders, and straightened her uniform top before taking a seat at her desk. “So predictable.”

            Jean broke out into a cold sweat, and glanced around the room. Colonel Mustang’s face was set in a wide, and amused grin. Breda pursed his lips.

            “You did it, _didn’t you_.” It wasn’t a question. “You took her teacup.” His friend was incredulous.

            “Well, she took my ashtray!” He hissed. “I have to stand my ground now.”

            “It was nice knowing you, buddy.” Breda shook his head one last time before starting his work.

            As it turned out, _standing his ground_ wasn’t something Jean Havoc was particularly skilled at. When Lieutenant Hawkeye left with the colonel for lunch, he returned her teacup. His life wasn’t worth the cost of a new ashtray. However, after his afternoon smoke break, which he opted to take in the ground floor courtyard, he slid open his desk drawer to find his square glass ashtray sitting in it’s regular spot.

            He quickly glanced up at Hawkeye who continued to chew on her pen cap, but he didn’t miss that telltale twitch of her lips. Havoc decided that perhaps smoking in the office was, in fact, a bad idea, and rather rude. He should be cutting back anyway. They _did_ cause cancer, after all.


	4. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a headcanon of mine that Riza has a passion for lemon pastry. The following fits into my Havocai AU, Unexpectedly Lovely, but was written as a stand-alone piece for FMA Week 2015.

            He knew he’d find her in the empty upstairs bedroom that would become a nursery for their unborn child. So far the only piece of furniture Riza had committed to was a rocking chair, and Jean often caught her staring at the blank walls deep in thought. On evenings such as this he’d stand in the doorway for as long as he remained undetected watching her rock back, and forth in the chair. The light from the setting sun dappled the room with its orange glow, and rustling leaves beyond the glass gave the room a life despite it being devoid of furnishings.

            The moment she became aware of his presence the rocking hesitated, and then returned to its previous cadence. She sighed. “Will everything be this hard?”

            Jean stepped into the room, and crouched beneath the window across from her, carefully placing the pink cardstock box in his arms aside. “What’s everything?” He asked quietly.

            “This room is stumping me. How am I supposed to know what to get before the baby comes? I was an only child, and had no friends with young siblings. Even now, I don’t know anyone with a baby.”

            He grinned crookedly. “You have _me,_ Riza. I know plenty about babies. Did you forget that I have two younger siblings, and one bossy older sister?”

            “I’m sorry.” She tore her eyes from the dancing leaves outside, and grimaced at him. “I’m just anxious, and I feel completely out of my league.” Riza held out her hand toward him. “Help me?”

            Jean took her hand, and kissed her fingers. “I thought you’d never get around to asking.”

            “I-” Riza blushed, and looked away. “I didn’t want you to see how clueless I am. Aren’t women supposed to know this stuff somehow?”

            “Nope. No one knows it until a baby comes.” He smiled up at her, and she ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry, beautiful, babies are a piece of cake. We can do this.”

            “You think so?”

            “I _know_ so.”

            “What are we going to do about this room?”

            Havoc settled back against the wall, and pulled the pink box into his lap, and winked at his pregnant girlfriend as he untied the twine securing it closed. “Well, the kid has to sleep somewhere. A crib would be a good start.”

            Riza eyed the box. “And?”

            “Probably also a place to store all the stuff like diapers, and clothes, and rags, and things you’ll want within arm’s reach.” When she quirked an eyebrow, he laughed. “Babies can create surprising messes when you least expect it.” Jean tossed the twine aside, and stretched his legs out in front of him. His feet reached just under the front of the rocking chair, and Riza crossed her ankles on his calves.

            “What about colors, and matching linens, and toys, and-”

            “Nah,” He cut in. “Babies don’t care about any of that stuff. Well, toys maybe, but not right away. The thing it’ll be most interested in is your boobs.”

            Riza snorted. “Well, that will be a _huge_ change from what I’m dealing with _now,_ won’t it?”

            “I wish I could take genetic credit for it,” Jean smirked, and shrugged. “But it’s true for all babies. They like boobs.”

            She nudged him with her foot. “And what else?”

            “That’s about it, to be honest.”

            “What if-” Riza directed her gaze outside again, and paused. “What if I can’t breastfeed? What if I can’t do it? Or what if the baby doesn’t like what comes out? Wh-”

            “Stop,” He interjected softly. “You’re upsetting yourself over something completely out of your control.” Jean set the box aside once more to lean forward, and take her hand again. “If it doesn’t work out, we’ll buy bottles, and baby formula.”

            Riza swiped a tear that threatened to roll down her cheek. “But-”

            “Please don’t start judging, and weighing yourself now. It kills me to see it happening.”

            “I can’t help it.”

            He tugged on her hand. “Come down here, and sit with me.” Riza hesitated, but he wouldn’t let go. When she finally relented, Jean pulled her back against his chest, and worked at the tense muscles in her shoulders. “Listen to me, okay? This isn’t something you’re going through alone. _I’m here_. Just _talk_ to me. We’re a team.”

            Riza closed her eyes, and relaxed into his touch. It wasn’t a hard thing to do. Jean Havoc had nothing less than perfectly amazing hands. “So are you going to tease me all night or can we get down to the good stuff?” She asked.

            Jean kissed the back of her neck, and slid his arms around her. “What kind of good stuff? If it involves the aforementioned boobs, I’m in.”

            “I suppose there’s that, but-” She paused, and reached for the pink box. “I really just meant the pastries that better be in here.”

            He groaned, and pressed his face to her shoulder. “You’re a tease, Riza.”

            “Excuse me? _I’m_ the tease?” Riza flipped open the baker’s box, and smiled widely. Lemon crèmes were her favorite. “I’m not the one that’s been dangling a box of lemon cakes in your face for the last half an hour as I slowly undress it.”

            “Undress it?” He laughed. “They’re pastries not employees of Mustang’s foster mother.”

            Riza shrugged as she took a bite of the still warm crème. “Same difference to me.” She moaned delightfully, and leaned back into him. “These are perfect.”

            Jean grabbed her wrist as she lifted her powdered sugar covered fingers to her mouth. She smirked back at him as he licked the dusting from the tip. “If you had to choose which you love more, would it be _me_ or the cakes?”

            Her eyes darted to the remaining pastries, and back to the face of her boyfriend. “Well-”

            His eyebrows flew up. “Is it really that hard of a choice?” Havoc’s smile faded, and Riza chuckled before planting a kiss on his lips.

            “I’m kidding.” When he grinned, and returned her kiss, Riza stood. She scooped up the pink box, and held it close to her chest. “Of course I’d pick the cakes.”


	5. Reunion

            Roy sagged in his desk chair, and let the armful of his coat and scarf fall to the floor. His luggage was still stacked by the heavy office door, and he had no intention of moving it or himself right away. Three weeks traveling between North City, and West had worn him out completely. General Mustang wanted one thing, and that was to go home and take a long nap with his wife. However, such fantasies weren’t in the cards for him. Not on this afternoon. He had reports to file, and a fat stack of papers on his desk that had no doubt been accumulating since his departure. The rank and responsibility of general would turn his hair grey within a decade, Roy was sure of it.

            A cacophony of voices beyond the office door startled him, and when it swung open he smiled despite his fatigue. Elizabeth, and Christine flew at him both jabbering at an inhuman speed, and at the same time. Roy didn’t understand a word of it, but he welcomed their hugs, and kisses. The girls weren’t the tiny forces of nature they used to be, but at the age of six they had no less enthusiasm for long overdue greetings. He embraced the girls, and peeked above their heads for his wife. She stood on the opposite side of his desk clutching two matching sweaters, and a pair of book bags.

            “Hey, Riza,” He managed over this daughters. She smiled at him, and it still felt like the most beautiful thing in his world.

            “Girls, why don’t you go take your Uncle Jean up on the offer for ice cream. Tell him I’ll owe him a favor, okay?” They grinned at each other, and hopped off Roy’s lap together before eliciting one last hug from their father. Their tandem of voices carried in from the outer office until Riza shut the door behind them. She grinned at him, and stalked across his office to pull him to his feet. “I just wanted a moment alone before life resumed as usual.” Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she leaned up for a kiss.

            “Ah, so that’s why you’ve sent the children away?” Roy smiled, and brushed his lips against her cheek, then neck. “I hope you realize how astonished I am that you’d initiate such scandalous behavior in the office of a high ranking military official.”

            Riza’s hands slid down to the buckle of his belt, and masterfully released it. “That’s a mouthful of formal sounding words, General Mustang. Are you turning me down? It’s been a long three weeks.” Her fingers toyed with this waistband.

            “Definitely not.” Roy gripped her hips, and steered her to a blank space of wall next to the thick layers of curtains that covered the window. “I still haven’t replaced the locks on my office door, so we’ll have to be careful.”

            She bit her lip, and pulled him into the small alcove behind the draperies. Every corner office on the south side of the building had such an alcove, and Riza’s first order of business when her husband had taken over the larger space was to have light-restricting blinds installed. Unlike his former office, he didn’t have a private room in the suite, so the alcove served as a haven of sorts. Of course, she’d always state his lingering headaches from the problematic nature of his eyesight as the reason for an intentionally darkened area. However, the space had also served _other_ purposes.

            “I excel at careful. It’s a skill I’ve acquired being at your side for so long.”

            He smiled against her lips, and gathered handfuls of her pencil skirt in his hands until he could feel her skin. “I’m a lucky man, I guess.” Roy found the edge of her panties, and slid them down her thighs. When she stepped out of them, he smiled before stuffing them into his pocket.

            Riza pushed him down onto the window bench to straddle his lap. “Very lucky.” She reached down, and unzipped his fly. “I expect to be handled better than that stack of paperwork on your desk, though, general.”

            He groaned quietly when she grabbed him, and availed herself quicker than he was prepared for. “Riza, when have I ever left you a mess like that?”

            “Every time you leave town, I’m a mess.” She clutched his shoulders, and her nails dug into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Roy knew he wouldn’t last long in this situation, and it seemed Riza wasn’t playing for the longevity, either. She clearly had a mission, and he slid his fingers between them to help her accomplish it. Her thighs trembled, and he held her against him as tightly as he could given his own state.

            After, she pulled away, and smiled at him. “I missed you.”

            Roy kissed her softly, and ran his fingers through her hair. “I missed you, too. I don’t think I’ll have to go away again until next year.”

            “When will you be home tonight?”

            He opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of the office door swinging open jerked them back to the dangerous reality of their compromising position. Riza’s eyes widened when one of the girls, probably Lizzy, piped up. “Where did mom, and dad go? Ugh, did they sneak off again?”

            Havoc sputtered. “I’m sure they’re around. Let’s go back out into the lobby, and wait, okay? I think that’s a _safe_ place.” The door shut loudly, and Roy knew it was on purpose. His office alcove made Havoc uncomfortable.

            Riza’s laughter brought his attention back to her. “I guess that’s the end of our illicit affair.” She kissed him quickly, and lifted herself off his lap. “For today.”

            He tidied his shirt, and re-buckled his belt while Riza tugged her skirt down. “I’ll be home before six, and I’ll bring dinner. There’s no way I’m staying late today, I’m exhausted.”

            His wife pressed herself against him once more, and straightened his tie. “Good.” Just as Roy stepped from the cover of the draperies, his daughters plowed back into the office.

            “Daddy! We were worried you’d left again!” Chrissy grinned, and flopped onto a couch, promptly spilling her ice cream down the front of her skirt. Lizzy pursed her lips, and shook her head.

            “Granny Chris says you need a baby bib.”

_"She does not!”_

            “Does _too_ , but never when you can hear her. That’s called being _polite_.”

            Riza sighed loudly, and pulled a wad of tissues from the box on Roy’s desk. “Elizabeth, your grandmother said no such thing.” She swiped at the chocolate on her daughter’s skirt, and handed the trash to Chrissy. “Go on, and throw these away in the lobby. I’ll be right out.”

            “Sorry, mom.” The girl looked chagrined.

            “It’s okay. The skirt is black, and it’ll be fine. Just go on. We’re about to leave anyway.” The twins bickered quietly on their way out the door, and Riza glanced at Havoc. “Next time, bowls. Cones aren’t for kids in school uniforms, Jean.”

            Havoc shrugged. “Well maybe _next time,_ the two of you can keep it in your pants until you’re at _home_ , and the kids are in _bed_.” Riza said nothing, but turned to wave at Roy before following her daughters out of the office. Jean huffed as he watched her go. When they were safely out of earshot, he grinned at Roy. “Nice pocket candy, boss, though, I’d do a better job of stashing that before leaving this room.”

            Roy’s face flushed as he reached down to find Riza’s lace panties half hanging out of his trouser pocket. “It’s been a long three weeks, Havoc!” He called after his friend as he let the office door shut behind him.


	6. Home and Family

            Roy shut the front door behind him, and leaned against it. Finally the day had come to an end. He exhaled a relieved breath, and fell into the entryway chair to tug his boots off. Riza hated when he left a pile of uniform by the front door, and the chair was a compromise. As long as the articles of clothing remained on the body of the chair, he couldn’t be accused of making a mess. Left in his pants, undershirt, and socks, Roy found his way to the kitchen. Riza smiled up at him from her stack of papers, and pointed to the stove.

            “There’s dinner, if you’re interested.”

            He pulled her into his arms, and inhaled the scent of her hair. “I’m starving. It’s been a shit day, and I just want to sit down.”

            Riza kissed his cheek. “Have a seat, then, I’ll get you a plate.”

            Roy settled onto a bar stool, and quirked an eyebrow at the pasta swimming in red sauce. “This is a bold choice after the shrimp incident this morning. I’m surprised you didn’t vomit up your actual stomach.”

            She shrugged, and took her place next to him. “I wanted it, and you know the girls never complain about spaghetti.”

            “Speaking of the girls, where are they? The house is awful quiet. Is there a disaster happening somewhere?”

            Riza smiled knowingly, and turned her attention back to the paperwork she’d brought home. “No, not at all. Your aunt is here, and she took over bedtime duties for me.”

            “She’ll be stuck up there until midnight if she doesn’t know how to resist the storybook begging.”

            “I’m sure she can handle it. She _did_ raise _you_ , after all.”

            Roy laughed, and deposited his empty plate into the sink. “True enough. I think I’ll head up, and say goodnight.” He left his wife in the kitchen with her papers, and quietly climbed the stairs. Madam Christmas’s voice could be heard through the half-closed door, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to eavesdrop. _Just a little_.

            “I tried to tell her, Granny Chris.” The smart tone of Lizzy’s voice was unmistakable.

            “Politely, I hope.”

            “She sure didn’t, granny! She was _so_ rude!” Chrissy’s voice was defensive in response to her sister’s. In personality the girls were utterly different, but sometimes, if they made the effort to fool him, he still had trouble telling them apart. They never tried with Riza. She _always_ knew.

            “Listen to me, both of you.” His aunt cut through their squabble effortlessly. “You should always look how you want. The opinions of the world, and yes, sometimes even sisters, don’t matter. If Chrissy wants to wear her hair short, it’s her hair, and she’s allowed.” Roy raised his eyebrows. Short hair was new.

            “Well, _I_ think it’ll make her look like a _boy_ ,” Lizzy said indignantly.

            “No it won’t! You don’t know _everything_ , Lizzy. I’ve seen pictures of mommy when she used to have short hair, and she didn’t look like a boy.”

            “That’s because mommy has blonde hair. Boys don’t have blonde hair.”

            “Uncle Jean has blonde hair, _dummy_ ,” Chrissy proclaimed loudly.

            Lizzy didn’t have a reply, and Roy stifled a laugh. “Short hair isn’t just for boys, Elizabeth, stop bossing your sister.” She paused, and went on more carefully. “Is this about her hair or something else?” Both girls were silent for a long moment. “Are you afraid of your sister not looking exactly like you anymore?”

            “Maybe a little,” Lizzy admitted. “I don’t want to be alone.”

            “Oh, sweetie, just because you don’t match doesn’t mean you’re alone or not special.”

            “But we’re a pair,” She mumbled.

            “You can still be a pair even if not identical. It’s important to learn who you are on your own.”

            “It’s okay, Lizzy, I don’t have to cut it off if it’ll hurt your feelings.” Chrissy offered.

            Roy was glad it was his aunt, and not himself, navigating the waters of sisterly discord. He didn’t often understand the emotional whiplash of dealing with his daughters. The only young girl he’d ever been around was Riza; she’d been twelve when they first met, and not only highly sheltered, but quite collected for her age. Six year olds were decidedly more complicated. He hoped it didn’t get worse.

            “No,” Lizzy finally said. “If you want short hair, you should have it. Just promise me we’re still together.”

            “Of course!” Chrissy sighed dramatically. “This means we won’t be able to trick daddy anymore, though.”

            “He still falls for that?” Madam Christmas asked incredulously. Roy scowled.

            “He really tries, Granny Chris, but I think his eyes aren’t so good, and he won’t even wear the glasses mommy got for him.”

            “You girls shouldn’t pick on him so much. I know he makes it easy, but still. Give your old man a break.” Roy bristled at his aunt’s words. He was _not_ an old man. “Come on, now. It’s time for sleep.” He heard the lamp switch off, and the light disappeared leaving the hallway with nothing but a pale glow from the nightlight.

            “Granny Chris?”

            “What is it, Lizzy?”

            “Do you think one day we’ll both find someone as nice as daddy?”

            Madam Christmas chuckled softly. “Elizabeth, of course you’ll find someone to love you just as much as your dad loves your mom.”

            “Impossible,” Chrissy said through a yawn.

            “Why is that impossible?”

            “Because. There isn’t anyone in the _world_ …” Chrissy started.

            “...Who could love _anyone_ as much as daddy loves mommy,” Lizzy finished.

            “You make a good point, girls, but don’t give up. The world is a big place.” Roy heard last minute kisses, and finally his aunt shut the bedroom door behind her as she joined him in the hallway. “Didn’t I ever teach you that eavesdropping is rude?”

            “You may have mentioned it once or twice.” He smirked in the darkness.

            “Your daughters are precocious as ever, Roy.” She reached out, and patted his cheek. “Good luck, and goodnight.” Madam Christmas left him alone outside the bedroom door. He smiled to himself before slipping into the room still decorated with bunnies, and butterflies to wish his little girls sweet dreams.

            When he finally made it to the bedroom he shared with Riza he plopped onto the edge of the bed heavily.

            “Looks like the Madam wasn’t the one who got sucked into bedtime procedure, after all,” His wife said playfully as she tossed the extra pillows from the bed before turning down the sheets.

            “Did you know Chrissy wants to cut her hair?” He mumbled as he stripped off his pants.

            “She mentioned it at dinner, and I’m not at all surprised.”

            “I, personally, think it should be done as soon as possible.”

            Riza laughed. “That’s only because you won’t wear your glasses.” She crawled behind him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You make quite a mark for them with blurry vision.”

            “It’s not _that_ blurry.”

            “Blurry enough that telling identical twins apart is a challenge.” Riza kissed his neck, and tugged on his shirt. “Come to bed, General Mustang,” She whispered in his ear.

            “General, huh? You only call me that when you want something.” Roy pulled off his shirt, and reached for the bedside table drawer.

            “Don’t bother,” She said from behind him. He turned, and could see she was naked beneath the sheets. “That ship has already sailed.”

            Roy stared at her agape. “You’re pregnant? But-”

            Riza shrugged, and grabbed his hand to pull him further into bed. “We both knew condoms aren’t one hundred percent, and besides, I don’t recall you wearing one on the window seat in your office two months ago.”

            “That wasn’t my fault. I’d been away, and your skirt was sinful, Riza.” He slid under the sheets, and held her against him. “Also, that alcove is practically begging for salacious activity.”

            She kissed him fully, and smiled against his lips. “We’ll have to redecorate the guest room. This means Havoc can’t crash in there when you two drink too much playing cards. I hope the couch will be to his liking.”

            “Ah, so that was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

            “Yes, Roy, I got pregnant on purpose to prevent him from sleeping in the spare bed.” She smiled, and rolled on top of him.

            “Does this mean your boobs are going to get big again?” He asked breathlessly as she grasped his cock, and slid down onto him.

            “Every part of me is going to get big again. That’s how this works.” Riza’s eyes fluttered closed as she rocked against him fluidly.

            “Just one more question.” She glanced down at him with a hint of annoyance. “What do I have to do to make sure this one’s a boy? Me, and Hayate are outnumbered enough already.”

            “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about that. It might help, though,” She pulled him up against her chest. “If you stopped talking so much while I’m trying to do this.”

            Roy flipped her onto her back, and whispered, “I think I can handle that.” His mouth latched to her neck, and he enjoyed the way she shuddered, and tightened around him.

            Another baby. He was okay with that. As long as it wasn’t a second set of twin girls. Surely the universe wouldn’t do that to him. _Surely_.


	7. Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another stand-alone companion piece to my larger Havocai fic, Unexpectedly Lovely. I can't help myself with this ship. It's like a bag of candy I eat privately and only in the dark.

            _“Are we there yet?”_ Ellie’s annoyed voice from the backseat encapsulated everything Riza was feeling, but remained too adult to speak in the presence of her four year old daughter. She sighed, and pressed her forehead to the window glass longingly.

            “No, shortcake, we’re not there yet. It’s going to be a little while longer, okay?” Riza felt grateful Jean was so unflappable in the face of a frustrating road trip to Central City. At the very least their destination would be considerably less stressful than the last lengthy drive they’d been on. Despite a promise years before to mind her own business regarding the decisions her son, and Riza made as a family unit, Delia Havoc’s opinionated nature often won out over polite sense. Jean’s mother never failed to drop a not-so-subtle hint that she wanted more grandchildren from them. He usually outright ignored her, but Riza couldn’t help bristling. If it wasn’t a proper marriage, it was more babies. The woman never let up!

            Riza had already decided being pregnant wasn’t something she wanted to experience again, so if her sperm spewing boyfriend wanted more babies, he’d have to grow a uterus and impregnate _himself._ She closed her eyes, and exhaled a deep breath to tamp down her irritation. She didn’t _really_ feel that way, but when trapped in a car for several hours at a time with a whiny daughter, and a lingering nausea she couldn’t help it.

            The cherry on the whole damn cake was that the trip had been _her_ idea. Originally her Fuhrer of a grandfather was meant to travel to East City, but the inspections (more of a friendly appearance really) were cancelled at the last minute due to railway repairs. In a moment of what Riza now considered utter stupidity, she’d volunteered her family for a drive to see him at his own home instead. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, of course, she could kick herself. Six hours in a car with Ellie would be a trying on the best of days. The little girl had all the energy Riza recently didn’t.

            The frustration in and of itself rankled her. She didn’t want to feel aggravated with her daughter who really hadn’t done anything out of character for a child her age. The guilt of working such a demanding job already ate at her, so why couldn’t she enjoy the reprieve of a family trip?

            “Hey,” A hand on her thigh brought Riza back from her spiral of self-doubt. “I’m losing you to that war in your head. I can feel it.”

            He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m just thinking about why on earth I thought a trip in the car would be a good idea.”

            Jean shrugged. “It could be worse. Ellie’s in a decent mood, and we’re almost halfway there…” He glanced at her a second time, and paused. “You look a little green. Want me to pull over?”

            “No,” Riza cranked the window down a few inches. “I think I just need some air on my face.”

            “Are you sure? You don’t have that stomach bug that’s passing around the office, do you? Didn’t you say Furey missed several days last week?”

            She tried to smile at him. “I’m fine. I couldn’t sleep last night, and I think maybe I should’ve had breakfast instead of just tea.”

            “Don’t say I didn’t offer.” He winked at her, and turned his eyes back to the road. “Remember when you were pregnant, and tea started to upset your stomach? Maybe this is one of those things that just won’t ever be the same again.”

            Riza shifted in her seat. His words stuck in her head, and made her twitchy. Of course, he wasn’t implying anything. She _did_ experience nerve pain in her lower back from time to time that her doctor assured her was normal for a post-pregnancy body, however, the nausea and exhaustion _together_ … _No_. Impossible, and ridiculous. She shook her head, and tried to focus on the cool, spring air on her face. “I suppose I’ll have to start having toast in the mornings.”

            Jean squeezed her thigh, and she closed her eyes in an attempt at a nap.

            The mansion reserved for a sitting Fuhrer hadn’t changed much since Bradley had occupied it, and Riza wished her grandfather would gut the place and redecorate completely. Never having been inside the building previously, Havoc didn’t have the crawling skin sensation Riza did for the same reasons. All of his anxiety came from being a former soldier in the home of the country’s leader. Ellie had no sense of either of her parents’ tension, and squealed at the sight of her great-grandfather.

            Grumman was an outrageously doting man, and spoiled her absolutely rotten only stopping short of buying his great-granddaughter a pony.

            “Riza, dear, you look ill,” He commented after presenting Ellie with a handful of sugary sweets that would no doubt keep her awake until a horrifically late hour. Grumman laughed, and conspiratorially nudged Jean with his elbow. “Do you have news for me?”

            She could barely contain the urge to roll her eyes. What was with their extended family? “Of course not, grandfather. I just woke up on the wrong side of things this morning.” Riza accepted his embrace. “How have you been?”

            “As well as a man of my age, and position is expected to be!” He chirped. “Be sure to pass that along to Mustang when you return home. Can’t have him thinking he’ll have my job a minute too soon!”

            Visits with the Fuhrer weren’t nearly as stressful as Jean’s family despite the forthright way he inserted his desire for more great-grandchildren. While Mrs. Havoc’s ways were laced with disapproval, Grumman simply wanted to make sure she knew he wanted her in his life. Riza felt guilty for preferring her grandfather’s home, former Bradley residence or not, over his parents’, but she knew Havoc understood. He’d always been sensitive to things she didn’t say out loud, and it was one of the many reasons why she loved him.

            As expected, Ellie didn’t finally nod off until two hours past her normal bedtime, and Riza fell into the giant guest bed with a groan. Her stomach rolled over on itself, and she regretted dinner, even if she _had_ been ravenous at the time.

            “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked her from the bathroom doorway. Riza kept her face hidden in the bedclothes. It was his habit to spend the final moments of their day shirtless, and with an unbuckled belt hanging temptingly from the waistband of his pants. She was equal parts aroused, and annoyed by the nonchalant sexuality of it. Frustratingly, it was the casual attitude of the belt that turned her on the most as he seemed to be completely unaware of its appeal. “I’ll be honest, I’m worried about you.” Jean stretched out next to her, and touched her back.

            “I swear, I’m fine. The day has just been long, and I’m tired.” She flipped over, and took his hand. “I promise.”

            Jean sighed. “If you’re still not well tomorrow, I’m taking you to the clinic downtown. We already know there’s a nasty virus that you’ve been exposed to. I’m sure the leader of all Amestris would be completely fine with Ellie for a few hours.”

            “I don’t want to ruin the trip, Jean. It’s probably nothing but stress.”

            “We both know this isn’t like you, so don’t even try and shrug it off as nothing if you’re still sick tomorrow.”

            Riza huffed, and crawled to the fluffy pillows at the head of the bed. “Can we not talk about it anymore tonight? It’s late, and I’m sure Ellie will be up at dawn.” At her request, Jean switched off the lamp, shed the remainder of his clothes, and pulled her against him. She shoved all her thoughts on the matter aside, and gave sleep her best shot.

            The next morning Riza felt absolutely wretched. Her dinner was in the toilet before the sun came up, and when she emerged from the adjoining bathroom Jean fixed her with a serious expression.

            “I’m _fine_.”

            “You _aren’t_. This isn’t _fine_ , Riza.”

            She fell back into the bed next to him. “Honestly, it’s probably just-” Riza paused, and swallowed the growing possibility. _Hard_.

            “It’s what? What’s going on with you?”

            Riza sat up, and tried to look anywhere but at him. “PMS, maybe?”

            Jean’s head cocked to the side. “PMS?” He blinked. “Riza, I can’t remember your last-”

            “I know, I know! I…” She sighed, and hid her face in her hands. “I know.”

            “How long have you known? How did this even happen?”

            “Honestly, I figured it out yesterday in the car when you brought up the tea thing.”

            He rubbed her back in helpful circles. “We were so careful.”

            “This is my fault. My stupid body.”

            Jean laughed, and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, it’s not such a bad thing.” Riza clumsily wrapped her arms around his middle, and pressed her face against his chest. “Ellie will be thrilled, and it’ll get our families off our back for a few years.”

            “How do you always manage to make the most stressful things seem easy?”

            He cupped her cheeks, and turned her face up toward him. “It’s just what I do, beautiful.” When he kissed her, Riza felt all the tension slide off her shoulders. She never knew where the anxiety went, but she didn’t care. Jean’s ability to drag her from the murky waters of self-flagellation was astounding.

            “Can we not tell anyone until at least a few months?” She murmured against his lips.

            “You’re in serious denial if you don’t think my mother will be able to smell a new baby on you like a shark with blood.”

            Riza sighed. “I suppose it’s a good thing she’s not here this week.”

            “And, by the way, your grandfather knows. I’m pretty sure he knew last night. I’m the only one late to the party.” He smiled down at her, and kissed her again.

            “Great. Nothing is private or sacred.”

            “Aw, it’ll be fine. Are you feeling any better now?”

            “Yeah, morning sickness was always my lot. Guess I better get used to it again.”

            Ellie burst into their room, and let out an excited shriek as she tumbled onto the bed. “Grandad said I could have a puppy!”

            Riza groaned, and clutched at Havoc’s shirt. “That meddling old man.”

            “We’ll see about that, shortcake. For now, though, I think your mom needs some food in her belly. Let’s go downstairs and you can jump all over your grandad instead of the bed.”

            Ellie hopped impressively from the mattress, and zoomed from the bedroom. Riza looked up at Jean. “We’re going to have to get a dog. Aren’t we?”

            He smiled in his trademark crooked way. “Don’t worry about it. Dogs are a piece of cake.”

            “I recall hearing that before, if I’m not mistaken.”

            Jean tucked her into his side as they followed their daughter to the house’s kitchen. “You worry too much. Everything’ll be fine. Besides, I seem to remember you _loving_ cake.”

            Riza smirked. _Touché_.


End file.
